


The Mighty, Fallen

by iamisaac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac





	The Mighty, Fallen

_**Harry Potter: Severus/Draco**_  
Harry Potter  
Severus/Draco  
AU: Severus is **not** one of the good guys.  
warnings for violence and non-con  
NC17  
849 words  
  
  
  
“Draco” - Severus's voice, dark and made of velvet - “you know I don't want to hurt you.”  
  
A flutter of the head - _yes_. The truth doesn't matter: give the answer he wants. Give it now, now, now – too late.  
  
“I regret that you need punishing, Draco. It saddens me, you understand?”  
  
Another flutter; but you have angered him by your lack of speech. Unlucky, Draco. Last time, you felt his wrath for speaking without permission. The rules have changed. The rules have changed, and Severus makes the rules, not you, never you.  
  
You hear the sound of the slap almost before you register that it has been given. Head jerking sideways, you are nearly forced off your knees onto the floor.  
  
“You should not make me angry,” says Severus, quietly.  
  
“No. No, master. Forgive me.”  
  
But your voice is husky, and the words tremble and spurt from your lips, as if your body is rebelling against the lies you make it tell. Your helpless, rootless anger against this man – against your family for leaving you in this position; your father for having deserted you and your mother for her submission – against the Dark Lord himself who could bind you as a slave to another man (a half-blood, indeed). Severus's hand clenches around your throat and the world darkens around you. Tongue feeling swollen in your mouth; eyeballs pressured from within. _Just kill me_ , you think; but you can not say the words, and anyway, Severus makes his own choices. When you are half-throttled he lets go, and this time you do fall sideways, so that you lie on the ground at his feet.  
  
“You force me to this, Draco;” and his voice sounds almost sad, as if he regrets what he must do. What he _chooses_ to do.  
  
“Please...” But the word is merely framed on your mouth as your voice fails you. Perhaps it is as well: Severus is only made more cruel by pleading.  
  
“On all fours now, boy,” he says, projecting a booted foot to aid with your movement. “Down on the floor. Show me how well you can behave.”  
  
The stone-flagged floor is freezing, and you are shaking from cold (tell yourself that it is cold, not fear, that makes you shiver). You move slowly, dragging yourself up and around, knowing what is coming – waiting for it.  
  
It does not come.  
  
It does not come, and for a second you allow yourself that dangerous drug, hope. This time, maybe, things will change. This time, you will not have to dig your nails into your own skin to prevent yourself screaming out from his possession of you, his forced entry. You are hardly breathing, your eyes closed in prayers to a god you don't believe in, whom you know won't – can't – save you. Yet still you hope. The whip slaps against the backs of your thighs, and burns like fire. You cry out – how can you help it? - but Severus has no mercy.  
  
“Quiet,” he hisses, and the whip thrashes you until you can feel the trickles of blood drizzling down your legs, dripping off your back.  
  
There is a noise, a high humming, squealing noise; and it takes you some time to realise that it is eminating from you, that with your every breath out you cry wordlessly for pity that you won't receive. You gasp, and beg – yes, you are begging – for him to take you, for him to do anything but continue to wield that whip. A Muggle weapon, yet you are not proud enough to prevent yourself crying under its blows. Draco, Draco, how low you have fallen.  
  
You hear the clatter as he drops the flogger; you feel him kneel behind you, running fingers through the blood on your back as if marking his territory.  
  
“I don't want to hurt you,” he says again, his breath warm against your earlobe. “But you deserve what I give you, do you not, Draco?”  
  
And again, “yes” - anything that will help, anything which will save you one second of this pain, this humiliation.  
  
“Tell me you want it,” Severus demands, and your tears are dripping onto the stonework now, as your blood did before.  
  
“I want it,” you whisper.  
  
“What do you want?” He will not relieve the pressure. His fingers are still trailing through your blood, pressing against the tender broken skin.  
  
“You...” You pause.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Your...” And that last step, the one you swore you would not take, is taken. “Your cock,” you breathe.  
  
And he gives a short laugh as he uses your blood to slick his cock; slipping more of it around your anus so that you are wet and waiting for him. Then he thrusts – thrusts – thrusts – and your forehead hits the ground as you feel yourself splitting from the pain. The last thing you remember is praying for unconsciousness; and this time the gods seem on your side.  
  
You wake, later, in a pool of blood and semen. But don't cry, Draco, don't cry. Remember, you're a big boy now.


End file.
